


Tennis Interruptus

by Kantayra



Series: The Best-Laid Plans (Atobe/Tezuka) [7]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Horny Teenagers, Humor, M/M, Sex, Tennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: Tezuka and Atobe realize, to their horror, that they suffer from an extreme case of Tennis Interruptus: a serious, but usually non-fatal, condition in which two tennis players are unable to finish a proper match, due to their teenage hormones demanding that they be having sex at all times.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, I wrote a silly thing. I'm sure everyone is _shocked_! :P

> Tezuka: You still owe me a rematch.  
>  Atobe: Oh? Are you ready to be awed at my prowess again so soon? Have you fully recovered from Nationals already?  
>  Tezuka: …  
>  Tezuka: Are you talking about tennis, or the other thing?  
>  Atobe: Tennis.  
>  Atobe: Why? Were YOU talking about the other thing?  
>  Tezuka: No! I was talking about tennis!  
>  Atobe: Oh.  
>  Tezuka: Yeah.  
>  Atobe: So, do you want to come over and have a rematch this evening?  
>  Tezuka: Yes.

Tezuka arrived fifteen minutes early, and Atobe met him at the door, dressed to play. Tezuka took one look at him, slid an arm around his waist, and pulled his body in close.

“I had forgotten how good your butt looks in tennis shorts,” Tezuka rumbled against Atobe’s lips.

“It feels even better,” Atobe retorted and kissed him.

So Tezuka kissed him back and then decided to test out exactly how it felt.

It turned out they never quite made it to the tennis courts that evening, after all.

Ah well.

***

> Tezuka: Rematch?  
>  Atobe: My god, you’re insatiable!  
>  Tezuka: No, I mean a REAL rematch.  
>  Atobe: Oh.  
>  Tezuka: With tennis.  
>  Atobe: Right.  
>  Atobe: You’re welcome to come over as soon as you’re free.  
>  Atobe: My practice gets out at 6.  
>  Tezuka: 6:15?  
>  Atobe: Sounds good.

“I’m not going to make the mistake of kissing you this time,” Tezuka said when Atobe met him at the door.

“Kissing me is never a mistake,” Atobe scoffed, but he didn’t try to kiss Tezuka, either.

Tezuka nodded. They were in agreement, then. Sex was delightful, but tennis was clearly more important.

“Just let me grab my racket,” Atobe said and did so, testing the grip in his hand as he headed out the French doors to the courts beyond.

Tezuka watched Atobe’s hand in rapt fascination, as it squeezed and relaxed, squeezed and relaxed, before carefully stroking up and down the grip of the racket, and…

“Tezuka?” Atobe said in surprise when Tezuka’s hand landed on his wrist, stopping his metaphoric handjob on the racket.

“Atobe…” Tezuka growled and pressed him back against the wall, moving Atobe’s hand down to stroke something that needed attention much more urgently than an inanimate racket.

“Ah!” Atobe gasped and conceded.

***

> Tezuka: Third time’s the charm?  
>  Atobe: Shall I wear a bag over my head this time to hide my irresistible good looks?  
>  Tezuka: That shouldn’t be necessary. ~_^  
>  Atobe: I’ll be on the courts. Meet me there, just to be safe.  
>  Tezuka: Just to be safe.

“Which?” Atobe asked, setting his racket on end, ready to spin it for the serve. “Smooth or rough?”

Tezuka gulped. “Rough?” he suggested raggedly.

Atobe looked up at the peculiar tone of Tezuka’s voice and met lustful, dilated eyes. “Rough sounds good,” Atobe moaned, and proceeded to confirm that theory enthusiastically.

***

The next match, Tezuka got as far as his first serve, aimed sharply and precisely at the exact corner of the service box as always.

Instead of returning, Atobe just froze in place, in stunned silence, gazing hungrily at Tezuka.

“What?” Tezuka demanded.

“You did that on purpose!” Atobe accused.

“Did what?”

“Shirt lifting!”

“What?”

“When you served… Your shirt and…” Atobe made an incoherent gesture.

Tezuka blinked, dumbfounded.

“Like this,” Atobe said, grabbed the rogue tennis ball, and performed a jumping serve.

Tezuka gaped, in abject lust, when the stretch of Atobe’s torso caused his shirt to rise up, exposing those perfectly delicious abs of his.

It wasn’t until the ball hit the fence behind Tezuka that he realized that _he_ hadn’t been able to return even a basic serve, either.

And also that he kind of didn’t care.

Atobe hopped over the net, and they met in a middle, and…

Well, there was no tennis that day, either.

***

“I think we have a problem,” Atobe said, peeling himself off the courts the next day.

“We got two points in that time,” Tezuka insisted. “We’re making progress.”

***

“You might be right,” Tezuka said after the next time, when he’d completely missed his drop-shot to lunge straight _past_ the ball and catch Atobe up in his arms instead.

“Hmm?” Atobe hummed against Tezuka’s collarbone as they cuddled up together naked on the bench.

“About our problem.”

“Oh,” Atobe said. “Well, there’s a bedroom through that patio door, there. I suppose it would be more comfortable to try that next time.”

***

“I’m serious,” Tezuka insisted, this time quite a bit more comfortable, indeed, as they lay in opulent bed in the bedroom beyond the patio door, tangled up together in the sheets in post-coital bliss.

“When are you ever _not_ serious?” Atobe asked with a yawn.

“This is a very serious problem. I’m planning to go pro. I can’t even make it halfway through a set with you. This is a career crisis!”

“As long as you don’t do this with your _other_ opponents, you should be fine.” Atobe cracked open one eye. “You’d _better_ not do this with your other opponents…” he warned.

“Only you,” Tezuka promised, because he couldn’t _not_ reassure Atobe after a statement like that, but it came out more breathless than Tezuka had intended, which in turn made Atobe let out a little moan, which meant that Tezuka absolutely _had_ to roll Atobe onto his back and climb atop him once more, and…

It turned out, they’d gotten to the point where they couldn’t even have a complete _conversation_ about their problem without having sex.

***

> Atobe: You’re not coming over tonight?  
>  Tezuka: No.  
>  Atobe: ;_;  
>  Tezuka: We need to come up with a plan.  
>  Atobe: We seem to be doing fairly well, given our respective sexiness.  
>  Tezuka: Last evening we got four games in and then you had me against the fence! Twice!  
>  Atobe: Exactly! We’re down to sex only once every two games.  
>  Tezuka: …  
>  Atobe: ???  
>  Tezuka: OK, fine. We’re getting better.  
>  Atobe: Come over tonight?  
>  Tezuka: Yeah.

Unfortunately, it was backslide night, and they really only got through three games, before Tezuka had Atobe against the fence.

Twice.

***

“We didn’t have this problem before,” Tezuka sighed wearily, lying flat on his back, once more on the mattress in the bedroom closest to the Atobes’ tennis courts.

“Hmm,” Atobe murmured against Tezuka’s skin, planting a series of kisses along the sharp line of his collarbone.

“We used to do other things all the time,” Tezuka insisted.

“Hmm…” Atobe began nibbling at the hollow of Tezuka’s throat.

“We hiked, and we went running, and we just hung out, and we talked for _hours_ , somehow without ever molesting each other.”

“Hmm?” Atobe’s mouth had moved up to Tezuka’s earlobe now.

“We should be able to manage a simple tennis match, if we could do all that.”

“Tezuka, love?”

“Yes?”

“That was _before_ I was allowed to kiss every inch of your body.”

“Oh!” Tezuka’s eyes widened when Atobe ducked down to kiss several inches of Tezuka’s body in particular.

***

“What are we going to do if we ever have to play an official match against each other again?” Tezuka fretted the next day. He’d thought they’d been doing well, at 4-5 in Atobe’s favor, but then Atobe had smashed and, well… That look of vicious concentration on Atobe’s face had a miraculous ability to short out Tezuka’s higher brain functions.

“Get arrested for public indecency?” Atobe suggested.

Tezuka pouted. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

Atobe pecked him on the nose. “I’m taking this very seriously. However, I have accepted that we’re young, horny, and stupidly hormonal. It’s just going to be like this for a while, until our bodies adjust to the fact that we can have sex any time we want to. I prefer to enjoy the honeymoon while it lasts.”

Tezuka considered this for a moment. “Damn you and your logic…” he finally conceded and caught Atobe up his arms.

“My logic is sexy, hmm?” Atobe purred.

“Your _everything_ is sexy,” Tezuka complained…but not really.

***

The next day, Tezuka stood in stunned silence as the ball rolled back into the net.

Atobe gave him a dark look and then, with a nod of his head, conceded, “6-4, your win.”

Tezuka gulped and nodded once.

One of Atobe’s eyebrows rose.

“So,” Tezuka said sheepishly, “can we have sex _now_?”

“It’s about time,” Atobe agreed and broke into a (successfully) seductive grin.


End file.
